


Summer of '69

by claraoswelve



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: AU, F/M, Waitress - Freeform, eddie's american diner, homeless, musician - Freeform, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claraoswelve/pseuds/claraoswelve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is a homeless musician with nothing but a red velvet Jacket and an old 1969 Gibson to keep him company. Clara is a bored English waitress at Eddie's American Diner who is a bit too relaxed for his liking. He's a bit too paranoid for hers. Opposites attract. How couldn't they fall in love? Modern time Musician/Waitress Whouffaldi AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Eddie's American Diner

And yet  _another_  one bites the dust.

What was it about the American aura that kept everyone so picky and cross? And they say  _Brits_  are rude _._ Well, British customers, American diner, she was allowed to blame the Americans for this one wasn't she?

Nope. Still just us cranky old Brits.

The flannel in Clara's hand moved in an automatic muscle-memory circle along the dusty wooden bar while her eyes followed the heartbroken young man that unplugged his little acoustic instrument before walking off the spotlighted platform, leaving the boos and howls of disappointed customers behind without a parting word. Clara felt a surge of sympathy for him, but not nearly as strongly as the others before him. The diner never managed to keep on a performer for longer than a week due to a cranky crowd that demanded 'quality entertainment'. Clara thought this man was quite talented, actually, but  _quite_ wasn't enough the British. He was just the latest in a long line of failures. She was growing used to the sad shuffling of aging boots against the tiled floor accompanied by the chorused whines echoing off every wall.

Clara sighed and flung the old rag into the sink before looking down at her previously crisp, bright blue outfit, now tinged with discolor from dirt, dishwater and that pile of mashed potatoes an angry toddler had tossed her way just an hour previously. After a hopeless attempt at straightening her appearance she did no more than straighten her little up-do before plucking a pad and pen from her pocket and moving that one booth in the corner no one ever sat at. Thing was, there was someone there now.

Her automatic  _Welcome to Eddie's Diner_ ramble came just before a quiet, pitiful giggle at the man's appearance. While he hunched over miserably an old, tattered red velvet jacket clung to his skinny frame that made that crazy, curly silver head of hair stand out far more than it would otherwise. "There's a reason this spot's always empty. Coldest seat in the room. You're right under the vent." She gestured with her pen to the source of the wisps of cool air that caused the man to shudder. "Come on, you'll be far more comfortable up at the bar."

"I'm fine." He insisted, voice gruff with a thick Scottish lilt that took her by surprise.

"You stubborn Scots." Clara huffed with an impeccable shake of her head, returning her pen to her paper. "Well then, what can I get you?"

"Just a coffee."

"Just black?"

"Cream. Eight sugars."

" _Eight_?"

"Is that a problem?" He challenged, eyes meeting hers and for the first time Clara could actually see his face.

His skin was pallid and sunken in with age. Lips thin...  _everything_ thin really, eyes red at the rims and quite unhealthy looking. His hands shook, not as if they were cold but just didn't have the strength to calm. The poor soul looked like he hadn't had a proper meal in ages.

"N... no problem at all." She stammered. "I'll have it right out." The man gave a simple nod and brought his eyes back to his lap. But just before Clara turned away she caught the unmistakable sight of a guitar neck peeking between his knees. She wanted to ask him about it but poor man was cold, famished and obviously not in the mood for any sort of small talk. Just walk away, Clara. Get the grump some coffee.

"Is that a-"

As if he'd been foreshadowing the question the entire time Clara was mentally debating he replied on a whim, "Vintage 1969 Gibson."

Clara had to admit she was impressed. "Interesting choice." She nodded to the instrument, steps completely stalled and ulterior responsibilities maybe not forgotten, but ignored.

"My father gave it to me when I was a boy." She caught sight of just a brief, fond smile at that comment, almost just a flash of remembrance until his face returned to the firm expression he seemed determined to hold glued in place. "Coffee?"

"Right- yes. Coffee." Her apology didn't quite make it's way past her lips because she wasn't truly sorry. Why should she be? The skinny old scarecrow probably just forgot how to socialize. Still Clara shuffled away, pad in her pocket pencil behind her ear and her thoughts followed her all the way to the kitchen.

He was obviously homeless. A trope that never failed to grip at Clara's heartstrings and give them a firm tug. She almost felt guilty for pitying a man of his...  _what_ exactly. Age? He was obviously filled with pride that probably came along with his years. Who was she to deem him as an old beggar?

An attentive woman. That's who she was. An attentive woman who cared to pay attention to a seemingly nice enough old man who could really use a good old fashion American burger. Or twenty.

The sound of the heavy glass coffee mug clanking against the table seemed to jolt him out of his state. A sort of half-doze Clara perceived it to be, maybe. Either way he was far out of it now, a small grin on his face as he curled his palms around the thick cup and held it to his nose, inhaling the scent.

"What's with the whole winter hobo vibe? Thirty-one degrees outside."

"And as you so pointedly informed me I've chosen the coldest seat in the room. Sorry that I'm a bit chilly."

"I did say you could move." She grumbled and the aura of his prideful demeanor struck again.

His response was no more than an unamused huff as he sipped at his warm drink. "What's that then?" Clara had to bite back a laugh at the way his grey curls twitched as his forehead jerked in the direction of the platter in her hand.

"You look like you could use a warm meal. Several actually, but we do have our limitations." She hadn't noticed the plate had begun to singe her skin until it was deposited heavily in front of him. "On the house. Coffee too."

The last thing she'd expected was a rather ungrateful shake of his head. "No thanks."

Clara's brow quirked up in a scream of,  _Excuse me?_ and her head swiveled so he could see properly the nonacceptance in her eyes. "Just you hold on right there, I made this myself in a ratty old kitchen that is  _not_ blessed with a glorious air vent such as yours. Put my blood, sweat and tears into-"

"You've been gone three minutes."

She shifted and automatically reached down to smooth out her outfit. "Just be grateful. Honestly, when was the last time you had a proper meal?"

"You just  _assume_ I'm some worthless, dead-broke bum with no perception of common sense."

"I never said worthless."

"Rude!"

"Just eat the damn burger!" She spun around as she heard a warning  _Clara!_ barked her way.

"Getting into another rile with the customers, are we?" Mr. Pink called with disapproval from behind the counter, earning a shrug of shame from Clara. "Back to work. You're on the clock." She didn't say another word before turning heel and starting back to the kitchen, but the laugh that came from her back made her tense.

"You chat up all your customers like this, do you?" He chuckled through a mouthful, and Clara felt a complete change in attitude at the sight of half a piece of bread dangling out of his mouth.

"I'm trying to be friendly!"

"Bit too friendly, don't you think?"

"You know I could still take that burger back if I wanted. Play the 'He refused to pay!' card. Works all the time."

He did a double take at that. "That's alright."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." It was a matter of principal now and Clara refused to let the man's pointed wink slide. She moved to the table directly at his side and began to ever so slowly clear away the dishes. "What's your name?"

He laughed a laugh of surrender and relaxed back in his seat. "Names are a funny thing aren't they?"

"I don't know, tell me yours and I'll let you know."

He shot her a look and shifted. "Don't think we're on a first name basis yet."

"Come on, you know mine." She straightened long enough to tap the plastic pinned to her outfit that read  _Clara Oswald_ in bold black letters. "Only fair I know yours too?"

His glance was sidelong and annoyed. "Again, all your customers get this sort of treatment?"

"You know what? Yes." She dropped the stacked plates back to the table and wiped her hands before depositing them against her hips. He didn't even flinch "I do. I'm a nice person. Don't turn that into a bad thing."

"You're doing that yourself, sweetheart." He pulled the mug from his lips with a choke as he laughed again. "And hang on,  _nice?_ 'Dead-broke bum'!"

"You called yourself that!"

"And did you deny it?  _No._ "

"Fine then." She straightened. "Not dead broke, not a bum, you've got the money to pay for that burger and a nice warm home to go back to then?"

"Well I never said that."

Clara smirked and felt a surge of triumph. That was the end of that. "So, how long have you been playing?"

"The guitar?"

"No, Bridge." And those expressive eyebrows worked their magic of disgruntle again.

"I mentioned I got it when I was a boy. Do the math."

"You didn't say how old."

"Eleven."

"1969 Gibson, eleven year old boy, that makes you..." She started to tick off her fingers.

"Not  _that_ math!" He cried and batted her hands away from their task as if it would stop her mental calculating as well.

Clara giggled and went on wiping down the table. "You any good?"

"I can guarantee it's better than that garbage!" He howled loud enough for the turning of heads of every single other diner inhabitant. But none of them argued. Some shifted quietly in their seats while others made noises of agreement. When a certain teenager shouted out an  _Amen!_ Clara shot him a look that made him shrink in his seat.

"Think you can do better?" She challenged.

"I can actually."

"Tell you what, since you lot booed that 'garbage' out of here we've got an opening. Show up tomorrow and prove me wrong."

He took a final sip of his coffee and stood with the remaining half of the burger in hand, leaning in close to her face with a breath that sent a shiver of warmth all the way down her spine. "I don't do concerts."


	2. Hopeless

Clara returned home that night with a filthy apron and a disgruntled weight in her head and chest. A persistent thought teetered on the edge of a hope that she so desperately  _willed_ to go away, because it was  _not_ happening. Nope. No way.

But what if it did...

She flopped against the sofa cushions with a grunt that took her breath away. Clara shifted uncomfortable against rough edge digging into her back and pulled out a tattered copy of  _The Time Traveler's Wife_ she'd meant to have finished a month ago. The book was flung aside and landed with a thump right next to another book. And a couple empty water bottles. Receipts piling up on one another and one of the job applications she'd neglected from the winter. Clara sat up, brow quirked and mouth just slightly agape as she turned her head. "Oops." She'd really let the place go. Glanced down at her own attire; Clara hadn't even bothered to change out of that skimpy little waitress outfit Mr. Pink insisted on all his employees wearing. High cut in some areas, a bit too low for her liking in others...  _"Gotta give the men what they want, eh?"_

She  _really_ didn't like her boss.

Clara gave herself a mental nudge of motivation to haul herself up off the couch. Tidy up the place a bit. Have a wash...

What was the point?

Same boring old routine. Get up every morning, go to work, earn the most minimum of minimum wage to just barely scrape to surface of her rent. Come home, watch a bunch of crap telly while she munched on a family-sized bag of crisps until she dozed off in the living room.

Then she would get up.

And do it all over again.

Clara's hopeless dreams seemed to pile higher than the receipts on her coffee table. She wanted to do so much but didn't feel capable for  _near_ as much. She was just a waitress at an old, run down diner. Here she was having hopes of travel. She wanted to see the world and what was beyond. Just another pointless hope, she decided.

Her life wasn't a subject she loved to ponder on, so Clara instead welcomed any distraction she received. Like that man at the diner today. He put a strange sort of smile on her face; the confused kind. The outward look she gave during her seconds of awkwardness contemplating whether to feed him or slap him.

Could she do both?

* * *

She struggled for a while to find a word stronger than bored. Tedious. Then a word stronger than tedious. Dreary? After that it escalated to agonizing and beyond.

She hated her job.

After a rather unruly and inconsiderate couple departed Clara made her way back to the bar to work effortlessly at the mess they'd left, clearing away dish after dish until nothing remained but a sticky substance that she feared was not in any way soda. She hardly looked as she worked at the counter with a rag then flung it away with a disgusted shudder. She should have been used to this by now. Cleaning suspicious liquid and tossing out the occasional unforgivable nappy someone chose to leave behind. But two years as a waitress and she was still just as aggravated as ever. People were so...

Nothing. Just people.

She just wanted to get away from people.

Thursdays were always the busiest nights of the week as it was the night new hopeful talent was brought in to entertain a disgruntled crowd. The diner was practically known for having crap talent. Clara suspected everyone dropped by anyway just to find a new laughing stock to gossip about and mock. Poor souls.

It wasn't her job, but for some reason Mr. Pink decided to pin the lack of show on Clara that night.

"It's not exactly like they're gettin' restless!" She defended. "And you never told me I had to find someone."

"But  _I_ didn't bother looking for anybody because you said that  _you_ had already found someone! Yesterday after that bloke left."

"Danny," She shook her head and dragged her sweat-slicked palm down her face, fingers lingering on her lips and twitching as she huffed. "I said he had a guitar and that he could play. I  _mentioned_ the idea to him but-"

"But you're such a lousy employee that even with all that cleavage you couldn't convince him. And that's  _Mister Pink_ to you, Oswald."

Clara mentally seared away at his backhanded comment but knew better than to get into a trifle with her boss on that certain subject. "You're not exactly a CEO or anything. We work in a  _restaurant._ We've worked together for  _two years._ Still no first-name basis?"

"No."

"Fine then." She grumbled, turning back to her task without another word. He shouted a few more things at her from behind. She flinched on instinct but hardly really heard him. "I get it!"

"Watch that attitude or you can just wave your job goodbye."

She faced him again at that, actually laughing with actual amusement. "Oh, because it's my dream to work in a run-down, freezing-to-death building under such a sexist and irritable man who knows so well how horrible his food is that he thinks the only way to bring about customers it to parade his waitresses around like a bunch of show dogs!" The room was silent. It had been silent for a while, she now realized as everyone listened intently to loud argument that made any other conversation impossible.

And it was as she stared into her boss's gaze, deathly brown eyes and skin crinkled at the corners, lips twitching... it was then Clara realized her mistake.

"Out."

Her jaw dropped and she snapped it shut again, shaking her head nervously. "I didn't mean..."

" _OUT!_ "

She was steaming with just as much fury as he was but it didn't quite overcome the look of regret in her eyes that resulted in a look of triumph in his. Clara pressed her lips into a firm, indignant line as she ripped off her apron and threw it aside. The exit seemed so far away, and only seemed to inch further and further at every comment she received in passing.

_Nice going, sweetheart._

_You sure did show him._

_Maybe a bit more cleavage would have done you good...?_

She shut her eyes and the world around her dissipated as she hurried out of the diner. She hated her job. She really did. Part of Clara's mind said she should be relieved. That she should feel a weighted burden lifting off her chest but she didn't. Just regret.

She hated that job.

But she needed it.

She looked up only briefly at the streets in front of her as she began to tread home. Shoes shuffling against the pavement in her moment of wallowing self pity.

Clara actually decided to give herself the dignity of changing before she walked any further, stopping by a station to switch into her jeans, tank and cardigan that did a only a bit to boost her mood. Still though, Clara made the journey home with her head down, waitress outfit clutched in one hand as she took all of her emotions out on the material.

_Get yourself together._ She could find another job, couldn't she?  _Could_ she?

If she could, she would have quit at the diner and picked up something better long ago. She wasn't qualified in anything - never was able to afford college. She wasn't exactly talented in any extraordinary areas so what was her default?

A waitress.

And now she couldn't even do that.

* * *

Clara had even less motivation to tidy up her home that night, less than normal, so of course it never happened. Her old clothing was flung halfheartedly in the vague direction of her other dirtied laundry and her shoes were kicked off at the base of her bed before she curled up, head on her pillow, sighing deeply as she accepted her mistakes.

She laid there for a countless amount of time and at some point dozed off, only to wake again for unknown reasons as the clock on her old nightstand nearly read ten p.m. She knew she couldn't fall back asleep so didn't bother trying. The breeze drifting through her slightly open window felt quite nice so she decided a bit of fresh air might do her some version of good. Even sleep hadn't done enough to clear her head.

Clara's neighborhood was frightening. A dark alleyway at every turn, overturned trash cans always visible accompanied by snarling canines as they fought for the junk within. She shuddered and pulled the black cardigan a bit tighter around herself. The stars were bright and lovely that night but her head remained low. Was she sulking? Was this a sulk? She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself. What's done was done. She had to focus on the future.

It took the increasing sound of guitar strumming that finally brought her head up. Arms tightly crossed Clara peered around, freeing one hand to move the wind-whipped hair from her eyes as she took a few more steps. She caught a flash of red velvet and turned the corner. Finally a smile was put on her face.

"Thought you didn't do concerts!"


	3. Concerts

There he was, her mysterious red velvet-clad, grey-haired stick insect strumming away at the strings of that 1969 Gibson. Clara couldn't help but laugh at the fact he wore shades in the dead of night. He moved with such finesse and emotion as if he were imagining a crowd before him to put on a good show for. But not a soul stood on the pavement as the old man played his heart out into thin air.

"Thought you didn't do concerts!"

The music didn't stop but drastically dimmed as his fingers' movements grew a bit unsure. His eyes were shielded behind the dark glasses but she could still catch the annoyed crease between his eyebrows as his head ever so slowly turned to face her.

Clara smirked around the hair whipping before her face in the cool wind. "Hello again."

He ceased his strumming and reached up to remove his glasses, revealing a pair of old, tired, somewhat embarrassed eyes. "What do you want?"

She made an innocent face accompanied by a single-shoulder shrug. "I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by."

"Were you now?" Humiliation disregarded he lifted the guitar up and over his head and equally large bunch of silver curly hair. Clara laughed as the strap snagged on the fluff and the man shook it away. "Do you live nearby?"

She shrugged halfheartedly. "'Round the block." Clara paced a bit closer to examine his quite pitiful setup. She prayed these weren't his only belongings; the guitar, basketball-sized amplifier, a spare jacket and a small plastic cup filled with a few pennies and a single pound. "Er... business going well?" It saddened her heart to see such a sight but the man no doubt had a quiet extraordinarily large ego. She didn't want to hurt his pride by pointing out her opinion. Besides, who was she to even have an opinion? It wasn't exactly as if she was high above him. She lost her job and didn't have high hopes for another anytime soon. Would this be her within no time at all? Begging for money on the side of the street?

But he didn't beg. He did what he loved - what he was good at. Maybe the situation wasn't as bad for him as she perceived? He wasn't exactly complaining.

"I'm playing guitar in an alleyway. Doesn't pay  _great_ but at least I get a meal out of it occasionally." And he laughed. Truly, genuinely laughed. A weak man could easily fill the words with self-sympathy, but not this one. He laughed and it wasn't sarcastic or passive aggressive.

He was happy.

"You know, I still never got your name." She reminded.

"Do you really need it?" He complained loudly. "It's rubbish."

"It's just a name!"

"Just..." He gave in half way. "Call me the Doctor."

"The what?"

"The Doctor."

"The  _Doctor._ "

"Are you deaf, woman?"

"Don't call me  _woman_." She retorted. "Doctor what?"

"Just the Doctor."

"That  _is_ a rubbish name."

"Well that's not my actual name but it's what you're going to call me." He mumbled. "What everyone calls me."

"Why?"

"So they don't use my real name." He started packing away his small supply. "My past is locked and my name is the key. I want everything in my past to remain exactly that!" His voice was a growl, eyes wide and fierce and Clara was pretty sure she saw at least three flashbacks run their course behind his sockets. Then his face went slack and realization struck hard. There he went again.

Clara didn't flinch but she did a double-take on her approach. "Okay, okay. Didn't mean to rile you up."

He rubbed his forehead briskly but the deep creases between his brows didn't ebb. He sighed and muttered an almost apology. "Touchy subject."

"Obviously." She dismissed. "So. What now?"

"What now?" He repeated, making a mockingly considerate face. Though the deep lines in his face seemed deeper and more pronounced than ever. "I pack up and go home, and you get the hell out of here before a pretty sight like you catches a not-so-pretty eye."

Normally such a jab would be met with a sharp retort but Clara did no more than bite her lip amidst a teasing smirk. "Did you say pretty?"

"Yes. Forgive me, I tend to exaggerate." The Doctor slung his guitar back around his shoulders and stepped past the woman, giving her a patronizing pat on the head. "Go home, Clara Oswald."

She pursed her lips and spun to follow with her eyes. Instinctively started to pace after him but stopped her tracks when his did the same. "Might see you around though, yeah?" She stammered. Clara thought it best to keep her new found lack of occupation to herself. No reason to give the prude old man another reason to tease her. She may have lost her job, but eating rights remained in tact. "At the diner. You should drop by again sometime."

"Might, might not. Don't get your hopes up." He flashed her a grin that started to shrink as his footsteps carried him away, body still facing hers until he turned away, only to stop yet again with an impeccable roll of his eyes when Clara called him back.

"Where..." She felt every question could backfire. "Where exactly  _is_ home for you?"

The Doctor smiled again. Arms outstretched and palms upturned as he backpedaled again. "The wind's blowing east! Might as well follow." In a gesture more friendly than anything in the entire two days Clara had known him, the Doctor waved, spun back around, and pretended he didn't feel the eyes of a lovely brunette boring into his red-velvet clad back until he faded from sight.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for all the lovely feedback! Reviews are always extremely appreciated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for all the lovely feedback! Reviews are always extremely appreciated.


	4. Third Time's a Charm

A light drizzle quickly turned to a heavy and chilled downpour on Clara's trek home. The dark cardigan was tugged pointlessly around her already drenched being and her head ducked beneath her shoulders. Long strides became short to prevent slipping as her shoes filled to the brim with water and her legs started to ache.

Silently cursing herself for such neglected preparation she willed herself to move a bit faster. Still about a five minute walk to her flat and droplets falling from the sky had quickly blurred into just one thick tsunami of water from the clouds. Clara could hardly see street signs let alone any chance of making it home without drowning in her own sodden filth. So she detoured; trotting through puddles equally of water and some other suspicious London substance before finding herself sheltered in the overhang of a motel garage. Far from warm, but at least dry.

The thick scent of cigarette smoke hit her nose and Clara scrunched up her face, turned away from the direction of the wind and stepped away as far as she could without coming into contact with more rain.

She shivered, glanced back and considered the possibility of stepping inside the building. She wasn't that full of it. She was soaked. Rundown as the facility was she didn't wish to do them the injustice of littering the floor.

Sounded like someone else wasn't that considerate.

"Look mate, you've got no money, no luggage, and you're dribbling water all over my motel! Out!"

"But if you could just-"

"I mean it."

"I don't need a room, just ten minutes in the lobby to dry off-"

" _Out_!"

Clara recognized the second voice and she couldn't hold in a laugh. Three chance meet-ups in two days. The universe was trying to tell her something.

She watched in partial amusement, partial sympathy as the Doctor was very unceremoniously shoved out of the doorway and under the overhang. The man took no notice of Clara at first but she kept her eyes on him. He looked like a completely different man without his jacket on, which was now wound around his case-deprived guitar like a baby blanket that he cradled against his chest in both hands. The momentum of the push caused him to stumble backwards... he could have very easily caught himself but both hands were occupied with saving the life of his precious Gibson. The Doctor tumbled back straight into Clara and both went spiraling down hard onto the pavement.

"Watch it!" He cried and rolled off, still unaware of yet a third wild coincidence in the makings as he rolled off his victim and stood, guitar still clutched under his arms.

She jumped to her feet and raised her brow almost to her hairline. "You're the one that fell into me!"

He made a useless attempt to brush the dirt from his soaked white dress shirt that had already turned cakey from the damp material. "You're the one that-" His hand stilled, his head shot up. "Clara Oswald, are you stalking me?"

"Fate is the culprit here." It was a genuine teased but earned a quite disagreeing laugh.

"None of that rubbish, if you don't mind. But honestly." He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you following me?"

"I'm not." He just stared. "No, really I'm not. I was walkin' home and didn't fancy drowning today so I found myself here." Her lips twitched. "And guess who I found as well! Looks like you had the same idea I had." Arms crossed she nodded to the motel entrance. "Any luck?"

"Does it look it?" He fumbled with the top buttons of his shirt that had come undone at some point, leaving his collar bone and the top portion of his chest exposed to Clara's wandering eyes until it was fastened again. He gave her a self-conscious look and she physically shook herself out of the three second trance. "Suppose I'll just wait here until the rain decides too-"

"No loitering!" The clerk stuck his head out of the doorway and made a shooing motion with one hand as if scaring away a dog. "Out before I call the police!"

"We're just trying to get dry!" Clara protested. She was irritable enough on a normal day and being cold and drenched only made her fume.

"Off. My. Property."

Clara didn't move but was preventing from shouting again as the Doctor wrapped his hand around her arm, gently tugging her away. "It's no use. Come on."

"Listen to the old man, sweetheart." With a scoff the clerk turned back inside and locked the doors behind him, shooting them a final glare before vanishing.

When Clara turned around the hand on her arm was gone and the Doctor was walking away. The rain had subsided but a steady drizzle remained. She caught up to him, boots sloshing around in the puddles as she ran.

"Hey!" He flinched away from the dirty droplets flicked onto his cheek. "Watch it! Shouldn't you be going home?"

"And where exactly are you going, hm?" She walked sideways to keep up with his pace as well as hold his eyes. "Do you have somewhere dry to go?"

"I'll figure it out. I don't need you to fuss about me." He grumbled and the walls of his pride were built a bit higher. "Go home, Clara."

Her face twisted and she made a decision she hoped she wouldn't regret. She stepped right into his path. "No."

The Doctor nearly toppled over her and took a step back to avoid physical contact once he took notice. "No?"

"You're soaked to the bone. You'll catch your death with your feet wet like that if you don't get dried up soon."

"You just  _assume_ I don't have spare clothes."

"Well, do you?"

A beat of silence. "I... I have another jacket-"

"Come on, Doctor! It's late. It's cold. You need a nice, warm cup of tea and a good sit down while I dry your clothes."

"Clara, I don't even know you!" He shouted. "And you don't know me! For all you know I could be some murdering pervert who will stab you with an ax in your sleep."

"First of all, I'm not planning on sleeping while you're over. I'm a gracious hostess but you're right. I don't know you. You can dry off and wait until the rain stops then get back to whatever it is you do." She forced her quite certain voice to waver with uncertainty.

"So..." He seemed shocked. Maybe even a bit offended. "You're not offering to let me stay the night?"

"You're right. I don't know you. You seem nice but I don't know that I can trust you. So no." A pride like his would never allow him to accept such a bold request. So she didn't go bold.

Baby steps.

It was  _his_ trust that  _she_ had to earn.

"Well," The Doctor cleared his throat and gave a brisk nod. "Good."

"Good. Follow me."

Had he just been played?

But the offer did seem... tempting. He couldn't recall the last time he had a nice cup of tea and the overall thought of dry clothes and a warm sofa did seem inviting - enough for him to get over half his ego and follow all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback!


	5. Thank You

He seemed so nervous for some reason and it made Clara realize even more that she had made the right decision.

The Doctor walked as if treading thin ice as Clara led him into her home, only finally wishing she'd have listened to herself the day before and cleaned up a bit. The same pile of receipts remained, same old pizza boxes littered the floor and Clara kicked a not-quite-empty beer bottle under the sofa in passing, but the item just hit another messy obscurity beneath and rolled back out.

She cleared her throat and turned to face him, hands clasped behind her back. "Sorry. Wasn't expecting company."

"You don't say." He was still clutching his jacket and guitar against his drenched chest like it was a lifeline and his eyes scanned the floor with poorly hidden disgust in realization there was no safe place to rest his prized possession. "Er..."

"Here... just stick it-" Her hand braced her body against the wall as she used her foot to scoot aside a pile of dirty laundry. By the time she looked at him again Clara's cheeks had a light pink embarrassed tint. "Here." She held out her hand.

"I've got it." He moved the sole of his boot over something unseen before very tentatively setting his guitar down with a grimace, not quite opening his eyes all the way until the instrument was resting steadily.

"Right. Have a seat," Her hand waved in the direction of the sofa, eyes following and soon her feet as she hurried over to pick up a paper plate with some forgotten substance around the edges. "Uh, make yourself at home."

"Thanks..." He stepped his was around obstacles and to Clara's relief he seemed far more relaxed without the guitar in his hand. He sat against the sofa cushions, hands clasped, one knee bouncing. Had it really been that long since he'd been in someone else's home?

"Calm down. You're the one on trial for murder here, not me." She teased in passing, slightly laughter dying down when her eyes flicked back to his again.

"Why would you..." His voice was crisp. Strained, whole body tensed. "How did you..."

"What?" She pulled a face.

Her oblivious tone stunned him. "You were... joking."

"Yes, I was." She nodded slowly and watched him from the corner of her eye. "Joking."

"Yes. Joking. Right. Sorry."

He didn't look at her after that, the only rare instances Clara managed to catch his eye resulting in a quick flinch of what she took to be embarrassment as the man just focused on his own two hands.

The two drank tea their tea in silence, Clara standing instead of sitting with the fear of startling him again. It was a faint sound of water droplets that reminded her of a crucial fact. "You're still soaked."

Coming up for a breath from his mug he shrugged. "I don't have anything else."

"You mentioned another jacket."

"Does it look like I have it with me?"

Clara rolled her eyes at his abruptness and disappeared into her bedroom for a few moments, emerging to find the Doctor curiously staring into the doorway and jerking his eyes away when he saw her return. The sensation of cloth against his cheek made him jump. A fresh pair of men's pajamas fell into his lap.

"They're my ex's. You're about the same size and it's all I've got."

"You make a habit of keeping men's - " He inspected the trousers. "- bow tie print clothing around, do you?"

"He was obsessed with the things. Never really understood it." She waved a dismissing hand and returned to the kitchen. "Bathroom's the first door on the right." Without looking her head cocked in said direction. "Just throw your wet clothes on the washer."

"But... Clara." His eyes met hers again.

"What?"

"This are  _pajama's._ "

She spoke slowly with a smile as if consoling a toddler. "Yes, Doctor. They are."

"But I'm not staying the night."

"Again, it's all I've got. Plus they should be quite comfy. More tea?" She held up the kettle, laughing after the Doctor gave a nervous nod and hurried off.

"My, my." The dish cloth in her hand was perched against her waist when she stuck both hands on her hips, looking the scrawny man up and down. The clothing was an appropriate length but was baggy around his skinny frame. A few of the shirt buttons were yet to be fastened and Clara caught a flash of noticeable ribs through his skin the instance before he hid them. "Look at you. And I thought John was skinny."

"I'd rather not." His back was turned as he discarded the sodden clothing then sat awkwardly on the couch, hands fumbling with the with the long sleeves, feet shuffling, whole body jittery really as if he just couldn't settle.

"You  _really_ need to relax." Clara brought over his second cup and didn't hesitate in sitting this time. To her pleasant surprise the Doctor didn't recoil. He was too distracted by the dish in her hand. "Turkey and cheese alright? I really need to get over to the market. In the meantime this is the best I've got." She dropped the plate into his lap and wrapped both hands around her mug, focusing on the scent of the warm steam that arose from the top instead of the limited currency she had left in her bank account that without a job would be quite difficult to restock.

"Thank you." And he was. He was thankful. She could see it in his starving eyes, even as he merely held the sandwich between one thumb and forefinger instead of devouring it like Clara expected.

"I promise I didn't poison it." She giggled. "Go on." And finally he took a bite. Then another. Then the woman in the room was completely forgotten as that one sandwich became the only thing that mattered in the entire world.

Clara frowned when he wasn't looking. She knew life without a home had to be difficult, but she'd never before truly stop to contemplate what else it came with. He was actually, properly starving. How long had he been forced to live like this? "Clothes will take about an hour." She announced. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No." The other half of his sandwich rested with uncertainty in his hands. He was used to rationing, she realized. Savoring each meal to let it last as long as possible. But he realized without her help that wasn't necessary in this case. And Clara smiled. "Thank you." He mumbled over a mouthful.

"You're welcome-"

"No, really." He swallowed and looked right into her eyes, a kind and genuine smile making him far more attractive than the grumpy tone he normally wore. "Clara, thank you."


	6. Story For Another TIme

She hadn't planned it. She really hadn't. Maybe it was the four cups of tea and a full belly that finally put the old man to sleep.

It was a bit awkward to Clara, really. They'd turned on some telly with two warm mugs in their hands and settled in, the Doctor promising he would leave as soon as his clothes were finished. Clara saw his eyes drooping but didn't have the heart to jolt him awake, so when his head finally lulled against her shoulder unconsciously she wasn't sure what to do.

It had taken several deep breaths and about a dozen attempts to slip out from under without disturbing him and a shamefully pleasant shudder ran down her spine when his soft hair brushed against her cheek on the way down. Carefully Clara lifted his legs onto the sofa and draped a blanket over his weak body before departing to her own bedroom.

She left the door open, just a crack so that even once settling in bed she could see the old man in a deep peaceful sleep. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know what sort of a man he was. She wasn't sure she could trust him, so that was why she wanted to keep an eye on him of course.

Clara didn't know if she cold trust him... yet she did. She wanted to keep an eye on him to make sure he was comfortable. To make sure he made it through the night peacefully. If he needed anything, who else was there to help him?

Maybe she should trust him, but she did. Clara wasn't an idiot. She knew better than to trust any kind enough man that gave off good vibes. Maybe it was the fact that not all of his vibes were spot on that made her feel so comfortable.

Clara lifted the covers up to her shoulders and reached across to switch off her lamp so that the only lighting was a dim brightness emanating from the moonlight. She shut her eyes and even the moonlight was gone. Clara slipped into a deep sleep.

* * *

She had no job to wake up to, no reason to set an alarm but sleeping in just felt too foreign. Clara was up and dressed at the crack of dawn.

She opened her bedroom door quietly with the expectations of a sleeping old man on her sofa but was met instead with with emptiness she didn't anticipate. The living room was vacated it seemed. Clara poked her head around each corner and called out with a skeptical frown. "Doctor?" No reply but silence.

And a note on the coffee table.

_Sorry I fell asleep. I blame that tea of yours of course. I should sue you for drugging me like that._

_Meet me at Eddie's at noon?_

_\- The Doctor_

She didn't realize she was smiling until she finished reading and the paper slid lazily from her hands and added to the rest of the clutter on the floor. She did it. She'd finally warmed up to him. Enough for him to ask her to another meet. Clara glanced at the clock and her heart sank. Lunch was so far away...

Hands perched on her waist and arms splayed akimbo she thought of an effective, productive way to pass the time. Should she clean? She should probably at least tidy. A sinister smell was starting to accompany the clutter...

Nah. Another day.

She felt surprisingly relaxed and free without a hot and sweaty day of wiping tables and minding cranky customers ahead of her, but that freedom brought a sensation of emptiness. Despite the space around her Clara wasn't as much of a lazy, simple-minded, irresponsible young woman as her aura perceived. Clara Oswald was no workaholic, but one hundred percent laziness didn't entice her either.

If she did get another job -  _when_ she got another job - she needed to up her game. No more sexist bosses, no more perverts peeking down the neckline of her dress, no more mashed potatoes on her face, no more itchy soapy water.

It was a shock that after being the victim of dozens of projectiling toddlers that Clara still adored children, a love she had developed a dream of pursuing over the years along with her passion for English literature. She would make a suitable teacher, or so she liked to hope. Regardless, teaching meant Uni. Uni meant money.

Money meant a job.

She was caught on an endless loop.

"Enough of that." She mumbled aloud and shoved the rekindling thought to the edge of her mind. Hours to go until her due time at Eddie's. Might as well make something of it.

* * *

She paced so roughly that even her cushioned flats made loud clanking noises against the warm pavement as Clara rushed down the street, then forced herself to slow. Glanced at her watch, sighed in aggravation. Nearly every day she was late for work, always darting in sweaty at that last moment with a rehearsed apology spilling from her lips and the old habits were starting to affect her. Not the tardy habits, unfortunately. Not today. In fact, she was a well forty minutes early to their meetup and hissed a curse under her breath. Either too late or too early. Never on time.

She didn't expect to see him so soon but entered the diner anyway, feeling a bit wary and uncomfortable when the normally familiar surroundings felt foreign as she entered as a customer and not an employee. Part of it was somewhat rewarding, seeing the dwindling help skidding back and forth across the tile to tend to cross diners and forgotten burgers, marking the restaurant's struggle that only sent a brief spark of satisfaction to Clara's chest. These people were the same as her. Clinging on to their jobs by a thread, trying to please an angered boss, now working twice as hard because of her mistakes.

"Hi Angie." She waved to the young girl taking up Clara's least favorite position, briskly rubbing at the stains and scratches on the wooden bar with such frenzy it made Clara wince. The girl was only sixteen, recently having dropped out of public schooling to help her single dad pay the bills for her and her brother and their tiny home not far from her own. She smiled in sympathy when Angie flashed her a nervous look, hearing the agitated shouts of Danny Pink then hurrying off before he could yell at her for her lack of skill.

_Same old, same old._

Clara let her purse fall to the table then slid into the booth perched behind, hands clasped as she glanced around. It took a good seven minutes for the waiter to come up, standing irritably at the table side as he noticed it's inhabitant. When Clara looked up, she didn't think she'd ever worn a face so smug.

"Mister Pink."

"I thought I fired you." The pen and paper in his hand were tucked away and he folded his arms over his chest instead.

"Oh, I'm here as a customer." She flashed a grin. "I'll have a water for now please. In fact, make it too. I'm waiting on some company."

"What  _company_? Got yourself a date, have you Oswald? What sort of man would-"

"Stop-" She held her forefinger in the air. "Stop that sentence right there. Is that any way to treat your guest?"

Simmering. That's how Clara defined him in the moment. He wasn't just frustrated, not even angry.

Simmering.

Clara grimaced at the sound of him gritting his teeth then her expression turned to a triumphant one as he walked away to do as she asked.

The bell on the front door jingled in place marking the arrival of another customer. Clara twisted around and gave a short wave as the Doctor walked her way.

He slid into the seat on the opposite end and lifted the guitar off his shoulders.

"Do you always carry that thing around with-"

"Shush."

"Excuse me?"

"Shush." He laid his forearms on the table and clasped his hands, leaning in close to whisper. "I fell asleep on your sofa."

"Yes." Her head bobbed up and down patronizingly. "Yes you did."

"What was in the tea?"

She pretended to consider, all the while ticking her fingers off as she listed; "Hmm let's see. Water," Tick. "And tea." Two fingers waggled in his face.

"What kind?"

"Chamomile. You looked like you could use an extra nudge on the relaxation route." She gave his hand a pat and he eyed hers warily.

"Just tea?"

"Yes, just tea."

"Nothing else?"

"What else would-" Her words fell short and her gaze flickered to the distance for a moment of remembrance before she leaned in. "Doctor, I didn't drug you. I thought you were being sarcastic in that note."

"Yeah, well I wasn't. So no drugs?"

"Of course not! Why on Earth would you..." He had that look on his face; a bit of a wince, the way he bit his bottom lip and squinted one eye hesitantly. "Right. Story for another time." His face went slack besides a relieved, friendly smile. That was a first. She wanted to ask why he was so anxious about every little detail. There was a bit of a trend.

But the moment had passed.

Story for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews give me a much welcomed boost! :)


	7. Benefit of the Doubt

"Danny can you please just get us our check?" Clara frowned and tried very very hard to resist giving her former boss a good slapping right then and there. "We've been here ages."

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Clara!" He called from behind the bar. "I've got other priorities."

"You're playing flappy bird!" She cried.

"You don't know that."

"I can hear the flappin' from here-" She shook her head with a shudder to compose herself. "Please just-"

"Clara, come on." The Doctor's voice was low and he had to lean across the table so she could hear it. He drew her eye and gave a quick nod to the door. "Let's just leave."

"Leave?" Her brow rose skeptically. "But we've not paid yet..."

"Because the silly pudding brain won't let us! His own fault." He shrugged. "I do it all the time."

Clara exhaled sharply and leaned back. "Bad boy." He made a show of tugging his pockets inside out. "Fair enough." One more quick glance at a very distracted Danny Pink and she nodded. "Let's go."

But the moment the two stood up it was apparent Danny had been anticipating it all along. Probably even planned it. The man stood abruptly and hurried forward. "Ah, ah, ah, where do you think you're going?"

It was the Doctor who confidently took over this time much to Clara's surprise. "We're leaving. If you don't want us to pay that's fine with us."

"I'm swamped. I'll get to you eventually." Clara was pretty sure she actually heard crickets chirping behind his words. They were the only remaining diners in the restaurant. Even most employees had already clocked off.

"You remind me of my old secondary school P.E. teacher." The Doctor laughed at the memory. "Think I might call you P.E. Suits you. Come on. Wouldn't you rather be kicking your feet up at a nice comfy home instead of fussing about all this?"

The man just rolled his eyes and started to walk off, but the Doctor jerked him back by the shoulder accompanied by a startled, "Hey!"

"Doctor," Clara gritted her teeth and hissed a warning.

"Stop being an arse. Just bring us the check or we'll walk out. You can't exactly stop us."

Danny looked at the hand on his shoulder then huffed before calling out, "HELP! POLICE! THERE'S A-" He was silenced by a fist to the jaw and a hand roughly shoving him back

"Doctor!" Clara's eyes went wide and she started to drag him back but not before Danny lunged, toppling the man to the ground and gripping his shirt. Clara flinched out of the way and tripped over a couple of chairs that clattered down along with her. When the police dashed in it was quite a sight.

She watched helplessly as the two men were torn apart and ushered out of the room.

* * *

"I would say I'm surprised but I suppose I shouldn't be."

The Doctor felt like he was being scolded by his mum like a child that had gained access to the forbidden cookie jar. He gave the cuff on his wrist one final helpless tug against the chair arm that held him secured.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking you deserved better than to be bullied about by someone like him." He scowled at the floor. " _That's_ your boss. You should leave. Find a better job."

"I did."

"What?"

Clara crossed her arms and nudged his toe to prevent diverted attention. "I got fired yesterday. Honestly, if I still worked for him do you really think I would have talked to him like  _that_?"

The Doctor pulled a face. "I didn't think... hang on. Fired?"

"Yes, fired. As in loss of job. No more waitin' tables. No more income. Zilch. None-"

"-I got it, thanks." He held up a hand. "Why'd you get fired?"

"You almost went to jail for unjustified assault and you're asking me  _how I got fired?!_ " She was simmering and his attention was drawn to her fists, violently clenched at her side before they went limp and her expression relaxed. "Sorry."

His brow hitched. "Sorry?"

"You were just acting on instinct." Clara stared at the floor and ran a hand across her face before drawing her eyes back to his. She stepped forward with a creased brow to gently touch his face and wipe at the drop of drying blood beneath his lip.

The Doctor's attention remained on her eyes as Clara stared right into his. She expected him to find the touch uncomfortable, recoil or bat her hand away with an annoyed retort. But the Doctor oddly enough seemed even more relaxed than she was as her thumb ran over the creases of his slightly ashen face, taking in the pleasant coolness of his skin, mapping ever inch of his eyes and cheeks while her hand roamed to his hair.

Something flared in her chest and echoed in her fingertips that caused Clara to jerk her hand sharply back like a she'd been shocked. Self-consciously she cleared her throat and welcomed the distraction of an officer stepping right in between them.

Clara tried to ignore the Doctor's wandering gaze on her face as his restraints were released and he was ordered to stand.

"Charges have been dropped. You're free to go."

The Doctor's eyes widened with surprise. "Really? Dan had a sudden change of heart, did he?"

The officer actually laughed at that. "Oh no. In fact Mr. Pink attempted to charge round double what is usually issued for 'emotional trauma'." That time Clara giggled. "No, luckily for you you've got a witness on your side. Miss Oswald over here cleared everything up."

"And I  _don't_ intend to do it again. You best not be makin' a habit of this. Are we clear?"

He shrank like a child. "But what if-"

" _Are we clear_?"

He mumbled a quick "Yes ma'am." Under his breath and started for the exit. Clara filled out a bit of issued paperwork before joining.

"Thank for waitin' up." She jogged to his side. "Right. Back to my place."

In the midst of rubbing his eyes with two aging palms the Doctor paused and lowered his hands enough to look at her. "What?"

"My flat. Coming?"

The Doctor seemed to do a sort of double take and spared a moment to take the information in. "After that..." He blinked quizzically. "I nearly just went to jail for assault... you saw what happened back there. I acted inappropriately and nearly," He snapped his fingers before her face to ensure she was paying attention. "Nearly  _went to jail_ for it."

"This isn't news to me, Doctor."

"So why aren't you trying to get rid of me."

The corners of her lips slowly rose into a somewhat surprised smile. "Because I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume - no -  _trust_ that you won't let that happen again. You were angry. I get that. And while there..." She coughed. "Certainly would have been better ways to handle said anger I'm not just going to 'get rid of you'." She crossed her arms and gave him a nudge with her shoulder. "So come on then. My place. I'm hungry after all that excitement."


	8. Letting You In

The Doctor crashed on her couch again that night. And the one after that. And one more after that. But of course, each night was the  _last time._ Not on Clara's accord but on his. He'd loosened up quite a bit since their initial meet but he was still paranoid and anxious about every tiniest detail and seemed to have a deathly fear of putting her out.

A week later and she had had enough.

"Can we talk?"

He was kicked back on the couch with Clara's infamous PB&J in one hand and a glass of water in the other. At the sound of her tone he sat up, admittedly a touch nervous but hoped for good intentions. "Yeah?"

She sat down and clasped her hands atop the table. They were jittery in each other's clutches with obvious nerves and suddenly the Doctor's heart started to race.

"Is this about-"

"Your," She coughed. "to put it simply living situation. We need to make some changes."

He nodded slowly and to Clara's considerable surprise he seemed... oddly understanding.

"You're right. Definite changes. I get it."

Clara pulled a face. "You do?"

He held up a hand to tick off his fingers as he spoke. "I've been intrusive. A week is long enough. A  _day_ was long enough-" He balled his raised hand into a fist to cease Clara's protests. "-I'm sorry. I should have left." He bowed his head with a shake of self-disappointment and leaned forward to peck a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thanks for being so-"

Clara was laughing.

"What?"

She bit her lip to contain the noise but it grew into a sort of strained giggle that made him flush.

" _What?_ "

"You insecure idiot." The last thing he'd expected was for Clara to stand up on her toes, fling her arms around his neck in a tight embrace - but that was exactly what happened. The Doctor held his arms akimbo and scrunched up his face like he always did when confused or concerned. This time it was both.

"Er... Clara?"

She pulled back and rested her palm on his cheek where she gave a light tap with her fingertips. "You idiot. I was going to offer a place to stay. Permanently this time. Well, as long as it takes you to find a place of your own that is, but there's no rush. I quite like your company actually."

His jaw succumbed to gravity and abruptly dropped. He blinked and there was a strange noise from the back of his throat as he struggled for words.

"I'm not  _kicking you out_!" She laughed again and dropped her hand, smile all broad and happy and eyes wide with excitement. "I'm letting you in. Well. Officially that is."

His mouth closed but his eyes were still as large as his hands. "Are you s-"

"Yes I'm sure!"

Soon the Doctor was laughing as well. It took a while, lips minding their time in slowly twisting from a frown of confusion to a grin of understanding and happiness that he'd not been granted the experience of in far too long. "Well in that case I just might take you up on your offer."

Clara laughed that certain laugh that made his heart stopped for a second or two. Bright and energetic, thrilled heart-melting. The way her cheeks twitched as she maintained it's hold and the corners of her eyes crinkled yet remained just as wide and happy. He only had a week to do it but had grown so accustomed to that smile that he would feel empty without it.

She hugged him again and was granted with a response for once. His own hands rested on her back, arms tightened as he laughed for a moment before pulling back.

Clara watched his eyes and her smile could only grow. The tired old man was gone.

He was ready to live.

* * *

"You sure do have a stomach on you!"

"What can I say? You make the most brilliant sandwiches."

"Doctor I slap two pieces of bread together over some ham. You just have incredibly low standards when it comes to food."

Three more days had gone by like a flash and the Doctor and Clara were enjoying every tiniest moment. The first day of the Doctor's official move in Clara had taken him shopping after a long argument about that velvet coat he adored so much.  _"It's all I need!_ " He had insisted, but after the following humiliating conversation following about the state of his trousers he had finally agreed.

He had no money so he couldn't pay Clara back and the promise of making it up to her once he found some work didn't really do the justice he prefered. So when Clara went off grocery shopping alone later in the day he made sure she returned to a spotless home.

Neatly organized receipts, pillows fluffed and properly placed, she'd found a pair of socks in the fridge that he'd deposited by accident but they did nothing but laugh it off. Well,  _he_ laughed, she cried, hand over her mouth as she thanked him so dearly then kissed his cheek with gratefulness.

The second day was a battle when Clara had resulted in the act of forcing him to wear his new clothes.

_"You can't walk around in that tattered old jacket!"_

_"I_ like  _this jacket!"_

She regretted buying the stack of t-shirts and denims because he was rebellious to the point that she  _actually_ gave in and decided he could stick with the dress shirts and plaid trousers. Rubbish combination for her fashion sense, but they made him happy so she stopped arguing.

And the third night they just relaxed.

"I'm going job hunting tomorrow I think." Clara sank heavily onto the sofa at his side with a yawn and a cup of tea in hand. "Maybe soon we can live off of something besides sandwiches."

"About that. I need one too." He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I can't just keep accepting everything you're doing for me. I've got to repay you."

"You don't have-"

"I  _know_ I don't have to, Clara." He met her eyes. "But I want to. Give me that at least."

Clara sighed with an equal mixture of frustration and admiration. "Fine. What sort of work are you looking for?"

He laughed at that. "I have no clue. Suggestions?"

"It's not for me to suggest." Her voice was muffled by her mug. "Just make sure it's something not entirely agonizing, yeah? Do something you love and it'll all run smoothly. I speak from experience."


	9. So Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the hiatus! I'm officially putting all other multichapters on hold until I finish this one since it seems to be a preference. I'm obviously writing this as I go along and writer's block is a beast, so if you have any foreshadowing or suggestions of what would happen/what you would like to see to happen in future chapters I'd love to hear it!

Clara's job hunting was an utter bust and she didn't have such a lack of dignity to lower her standards anymore. Six interviews in the span of a week, ranging from London's nicest shop to a dinky convenience store on the corner. Most opportunities fell through because - or so they claimed - no help was needed, accompanied by an assured,  _we'll put you on the waiting list,_ which not once in her entire life had ever proven to be a good response.

But when you're turned down for lack of qualifications for selling  _perfume_ it's like all those practically nonexistent hopes and dreams plummet lower than they had already rested.

Exhausted and discouraged Clara trudged home and fell mercilessly against the soft, plush sofa and buried her face against the pillows, inhaling deeply. The room didn't smell like old pizza and cardboard anymore thanks to a certain someone. The Doctor's hunt for work had not paid off yet either, and it was obvious his nagging guilty obligation to repay Clara for "all she had done" persisted. Because every time she came home the place looked spotless and gorgeous and smelled of carpet cleaner. She didn't even know she owned carpet cleaner.

Clara didn't realize she'd dozed off until the click of the front door made her jump. When she looked up the Doctor was frozen in place, arms extended and a wince on his face as he grit his teeth. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

She shook her head groggily and sat up. "Nah, I shouldn't have fallen asleep anyways. How'd it go today?"

"Good."

Clara paused in the midst of rubbing sleep from her face and her eyes snapped to his. "Good?"

He seemed excited as he sat down at her side and repeated with an emphasized, " _Good._ "

"Define good."

"A thing happened."

"Define the thing!

He just smirked and fell silent.

"Doctor tell me the thing!" She laughed and playfully shook his arm.

"It's a surprise. For me to know and you to find out. Be patient!"

"But  _when_ will I find out? Doctor if you got a job that's wonderful and  _I need to know what it is!_ "

His rebellious grin remained plastered on his face. He didn't budge.

"So what, you're gonna keep me in suspense?"

"Just for today. You'll get to see tomorrow."

"See what?!"

The Doctor laughed something bright as he rose to his feet. Eyes glimmering, head held higher and just everything that was  _him_ poised in a new and refreshed way.

"My turn to make dinner tonight. Soup or sandwich?"

* * *

She shot up out of bed the next morning with an anxious twisting in her stomach reflecting the smile on her face as she'd gotten dressed, slapped on some makeup with halfhearted intent and hurried into the living room awaiting expectant news.

Clara took her bottom lip between her teeth and froze in her heavy tracks at the sight of the Doctor in the midst of a seemingly private phone conversation in the corner of the kitchen judging by the way he glanced nervously over his shoulder at the sound of her footsteps then shuffled further against the wall.

'Doctor.' She mouthed, earning an emphasized slashing motion at the Doctor's own throat and followed by a finger to his lips.

She listened intently to the one sided conversation doing her best to pick up every word, every mumble in a desperate attempt to put the pieces together.

It wasn't too difficult going by the crestfallen slump of his shoulder.

"Yes, yes I understand. Of course! No way you could have possibly known." More incomprehensible slurs from the other line. "Thanks again - yes - you too." The phone switched off and Clara expected him to turn and face her, explanation, apology, anything spilling from his lips like a tsunami.

But even though all he did was stand there Clara could read him enough just from his shoulders and the back of his head.

"Job fell through didn't it?" She heard his shaky inhalation and a hardly masked sniffle before he turned. He didn't spill an immediate  _sorry_ or start ticking off all the reasons on both hands why he should have tried harder. He just smiled. It was apologetic. It was sad and a bit sunken in causing his face to advance a couple years - but it was still a smile. "Hey, that was just the first of many opportunities you'll get. You're only a week into this!"

He nodded thoughtfully as if he were already thinking up new plans and angles. This wasn't just about repaying a debt anymore. He needed to fill that hole that only self-accomplishment could manage.

"So what happened?" She asked.

"Went into a last-minute foreclosure. Nothing could be done about it. Understandable, of course. Can hardly blame the lad."

"Of course..."

The Doctor's breaths started to quicken in his frustration and Clara took painful note of how his eyes crinkled at the corners as he screwed them shut and his smiled dissipated abruptly, hand fisting against the wood of the counter-top before lifting and slamming down with a dull thud.

"Hey! Hey," In the same split second Clara managed to avoid his swinging arm and grip it and its twin in her small but firm hold. "Hey. None of that-" She gasped when he broke free and slammed both palms against the wall in searing anger, shouts erupting from somewhere he couldn't contain before Clara could stop him.

"I was so close! SO CLOSE. So close to no longer being helpless. So close to-"

" _-_ You were so close to accomplishing something that you can  _easily_ accomplish again!" Well maybe not so easily. That much was proven in this recent week, but that still never made it the slightest bit impossible. "Doctor you-"

"SO." She didn't realize he was crying until she heard the first crack of his voice. "Close..." His back slid against the wall as his thin body slipped to the floor and he covered his face, ashamed and enraged but too far gone to hide it.

"Doctor..." Clara was torn between backpedaling for her life or scooping his shoulders into her embrace for a warm comforting hug. So she met in the middle - crouched on her knees with a hand perched on his leg. "Hey. I'm not taking this. Look at me." She eyed the hands that were clenching against the carpet. "Stop it." Her eyes snapped back to his face. "Hey? Enough of that. And I said to  _look at me._ Do as you're told."

His head hardly lifted. The eyes that met hers were clouded and darkened as if all the lives of every disappointed soul were combined in it's depths. It made her reel mentally because it was not what she was used to.

She wanted the light back. And if something so superficial could get him so...

Hurt.

_Broken._

But he was already broken from a complicated past she was yet to learn, and Clara decided it was her job to fix him.

This was still just the beginning.


	10. Confidence

"Right!"

The Doctor jumped at the loud thud brought by Clara slamming a huge stack of papers down onto the now trembling-with-age kitchen table.

Neither of them moved until Clara hitched an eyebrow and nodded pointedly to the chair closest to him.

"Sit."

Confused but reliant the Doctor did as he was told, hands clasped loosely in his lap and eyes flickering from the papers to Clara and back again. He gestured with an unsure upturned palm. "Care to explain-"

"-Went around town and jotted down every single 'Help Wanted' poster out there. Doctor we're gonna find you not just any job. I don't want you to find something mediocre  _just_ for the sake of work. You need to do something you'll enjoy. Something you're good at. So." Clara eased into the chair opposite of him and swiftly slid the papers aside, elbows on the table. As she watched his suggestive face her fingertips drummed against her cheek in a patient but eager manner. What was he so confused about? "Doctor."

"That's the problem." He looked up with a genuine shrug. It wasn't self-sympathetic, pitying, sad, anything other than straight matter-of-fact. "I don't know what I'm good at."

"Well you can play guitar." Clara mused. "Quite talented in that field. Anything else you can play?"

"Piano- but there aren't exactly a vast amount of jobs in that field you know."

"Hey, let me do the job-figuring-out bit and you just tell me what you're good at." She laid her palm face down on the table. "Instruments aside. What else do you do?" The blank expression that met hers resulted in a shaking head. "Okay, talents aside. What do you  _enjoy_?"

He looked around as if the answer lied amongst the sparkling clean carpet. "Music."

She sighed at that. "You said yourself that music-related jobs are difficult to come by." She fluttered her pencil against the table in thought. "You could teach I suppose."

He shook his head wildly and Clara pressed her lips into a thin line of understanding. He wasn't exactly a people person.

"It's not a payin' job but maybe you could get a bit of attention if you take me up on my offer at the diner!" She reminded, sitting up further as the ideas expanded. "That'd be great I think! One of these days some music producer or agent guy could pop in, watch you in action and offer you some sort of-"

"Clara." To her dismay he was laughing.

She pouted. "What?"

"Honestly. We have to think rationally here. What are the chances of that happening? You're not only hoping but  _assuming_ that some high-end agent will end up in a dinky diner on the corner, watch me play a couple signs and then offer me a record deal on the spot? Is that truly realistic?"

The bit of hope flaring in her eyes died down. "I guess not." Clara sighed and rubbed her face briskly with both hands. "There has to be something."

"We've only been at this a week." He encouraged, a far stretch from last night's irrational breakdown. "Let's just keep doing what we're doing. In the meantime I'll keep up my little street corner performances. I get thrown enough pennies and pounds for some chips on a good day."

"Fine." She succumbed. "But you really need to relocate your business. That's quite possibly the worst part of town you play in. I saw a rat eating what looked like a thumb before." She shuddered.

The Doctor blinked disbelievingly. "A thumb."

"Well that's what it looked like!" She defended against his laugh.

"I suppose you're right," He settled and grew thoughtful. "But where else can I go without getting... I dunno, run off?"

Clara reached over and gave his hand a pat. He didn't fail to catch the playful glimmer in her eyes that made his own lips twitch.

"I know just the place."

* * *

"Have a good day at work, sweetie." Clara sang playfully and pressed her lips to the Doctor's cheek, waving him off with his lone guitar and gloriously ironic 'I  _heart_  NY' mug perched at his feet. The almost-deafening roar of beautifully enhanced music serenaded her on her walk.

Day nine of nine of job hunting if she were lucky. Day eight of eight had been a bust. Not to mention seven of seven. Maybe she should call this nine of ten. Give herself an extra day. Some breathing room. Make another failed trek a bit less disappointing at the end of the day.

Hopeless thinking. Originally she thought it to be better than hopeless  _wishful_ thinking. But she would prefer the tiniest scrap of hope than no hope at all. She still had a shot. Clara hadn't even begun to explore the rest of London's opportunities. She just had to look a bit harder. Try a bit harder- there had to be something out there.

Despite her constant encouragements, assuring the Doctor that he needed to find a job he would  _love_ if he truly wanted to have a sense of contentment, Clara decided she was about ready to give up on her own advice. There was only one single,  _hopeless_ desire of her own that, had she been granted the funds, would definitely be worth pursuing.

But she didn't.

Despite Clara's academic advances she'd never been granted a single scholarship during her secondary school days. And here she was, over ten years later, with no further education under her belt. No money to  _acquire_ that further education. She wanted to teach. She wanted to teach  _so_ bad. And she was smart! Smart with a fond, borderline embarrassingly deep love for children. She would make... the  _best_ teacher. The best she could be that is... which she assumed to be  _quite_ best of the best. She aspired to succeed. There were days Clara sometimes just sat in regretful thought, wondering  _why_ she was stuck in this mundane life. She was capable of so much more.  _So much more._ What did she do to deserve  _this_?

Presumably nothing. This was just how it turned out to be. Her own fault, she supposed. Early onset motivation could have taken her much further. But the majority of her life that was exactly what she lacked.  _Motivation._

Clara tugged self consciously at the shoulder strap on her purse as she passed up yet another towering billboard advertising happy young men and women with backpacks strapped to their shoulders as they walked in their little groups up to the beautiful sunlight-lit college campus in high definition display. Would it even have mattered if she could afford a degree? She was nearing her thirties now. Probably too old for her dignity to handle.

The silent musings carried on for the rest of the day in the midst of another failed job interview and a couple more shops that  _also_ weren't hiring.

Her feet were tired and her mind was spinning. She'd had enough. The armies clattering about in her head didn't ebb until headed home and came face to face with the Doctor.

He was standing right at the doorway to her flat with a light bounce in his gait and an anxious - the  _good_ sort of anxious shine in his eyes. "Clara!"

Everything else was tucked away to the furthest peak in the back of her mind allowed.

"Doctor." She laughed out and slung her bag onto the floor, chuckling a quick apology when the man plucked up the strap and hung it on the doorknob after a quick mumble about the state of her flat. "So what's got you all excited?" Her eyes widened. "Did you find a job?"

"Er, no." He clasped his hands and rubbed them together, trying to get her fading smile back into it's normal shine. "But," His hand shot into his pocket and withdrew a huge crumple of paper. "Look!"

Clara took the money right from his hand and glided it through her fingers. Immediately she started laughing in surprise. "How did you-"

"You were right. That was the perfect place. Mind you, got into a bit of a rile with P.E. You should have seen his face! Got all dark the more angry he got. Especially wish you could have been there when I told him that  _specific_ bit of property I played on was government owned so he couldn't legally just shoo me off." The laughter died down as he grew out of breath but the man still grinned wildly. "The sun made him all sweaty and nasty smelling. Spent too much time outside bantering with me than he did inside with his customers. Eventually enough of them complained about the smell that he went on home."

"Oh my god." Clara pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. "But Doctor, this is a good forty-something pounds. All of this for playing guitar for a few hours?"

He gave a proud tug on the lapels of his jacket and shrugged. "I'm quite good." He reeled in happy shock as Clara squealed and flung her arms around his neck.

"I'm so proud of you!" When she pulled back she cupped his face between her palms, frowning when he gently pried them away to grip in one firm hand.

"Don't be too proud. Danny sort of smashed the mug you lent me. Said it was a 'rude and inappropriate gesture' to use such 'mockery' outside of an American diner... I told him it was just a cup and he was of course grumpy from all the sun. Then that happened." He pulled a sharp of broken glass out of his pocket and let it pointedly fall to the floor.

Clara just shook her head and laughed again, the  _sliver_ of an inconvenience not coming close to matching up to his succession that left her  _beyond_ proud. "What are you gonna do with your first pay then?" She tapped his chest questioningly. "You should stick it in a jar. Save up enough until you can open a bank account. Before you know it you'll have enough to even start makin' payments on a house and then-"

"-Clara." He cut her off before she got too excited. "We can't be sure of how long this will last. I'm a  _street performer_. I got lucky today but probably won't come home with this much every day."

She shuddered pleasantly the way his Scottish lilt emitted  _home_.

"Well, you should still save it."

"A bit." To her surprise his hands settled confidently at her waist. Clara looked down at his hands then back up into his eyes as he spoke in a deep, rumbling voice that she felt vibrate in his chest. "Let's go to dinner tonight. My treat." He pulled a seemingly shocked face at the unfamiliar words. "This'll be fun. Never treated anyone to anything before."

"Doctor you can't just go and spend all your money once you've earned it." She trailed her fingertips along his sleeves. "Otherwise you'll never get anywhere."

"Oh, I know. But I need to do this for you." His expression turned upside down. "Clara. I have to do this for you. I can't take this obligation hanging over my head every day."

"Doctor," She whispered soothingly. "I keep telling you. You're not indebted to me. I don't want you to feel any sort of obligation to-"

"Clara." His voice hardened in an equally gentle manner. "Let me do this for you."

She searched his eyes and found exactly what she always did. Fear, paranoia, frustration and on a bad day anger. But the overlaying warmth she was discovering was enough for her to give in. This was more about allowing him to feel a sense of accomplishment than it was a treat of her own. "Alright." She smiled. "Dinner."

"It's a date." The serious tone in his voice didn't outweigh the tease.

"A date, eh?" Clara smirked and gave his jacket a playful tug.

"Yeah." He nodded firmly, thoughtful look crossing his face then fading to an obviously new feeling of confidence as he restated. "It's a date."


End file.
